Chapter 2
"Why didn't you reply to my message last night?"
Alex didn't get home until noon the next day. He changed clothes and flopped onto the couch to play video games.
I walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate and took a seat at the dining table.
"Didn't see it," I said.
"Oh," he replied.
He kept his eyes glued to the screen, his thumbs flying over the controller.
"Chloe said you asked her out for coffee yesterday. Did you two talk it out?" he asked.
"Talk about what?" I replied.
"The whole profile picture thing," he said.
He sounded casual.
"She said she already explained it to you. Are you still bothered by it?"
I took a bite of my food and stayed quiet.
He finally turned to look at me.
"Emily, don't be like this. Chloe's really upset. She thinks you don't trust her."
"It's not that I don't trust her," I said.
"At least text her back. She sent you a bunch of messages and you didn't reply to any of them," he said.
I put down my fork and looked at him.
"How do you know how many messages she sent me?" I asked.
He paused, his eyes darting away for a second.
"She told me. Said you were ignoring her and asked me if she'd messed up somehow," he said.
I nodded, but didn't say anything else.
If anyone knew what Chloe had done, it was him, not me.
At 2 PM, Chloe updated her social feed.
It was a photo of a handwritten letter, her round, neat handwriting filling the page.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just too clueless, even my best friend ends up misunderstanding me."
"But I know sincerity never lies. Time will show the truth."
There were over thirty likes and seven or eight comments underneath.
I scrolled down and saw that Alex had liked it.
Not just a like, he even left a comment:
"Don't overthink it. You didn't do anything wrong."
I locked my phone and went out to the balcony.
The street below was quiet, and the March wind still had a chill to it.
I took a deep breath, opened my phone's notes app, and double-checked the flight info I'd saved earlier.
Copenhagen.
An exchange spot at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts. My advisor recommended I apply last month, and I'd already sent in all the paperwork.
If I got accepted, I'd be leaving in September for two years.
That was my dream back in college.
But then, to stay with Alex, I took a job at a local design firm and put that dream on hold for seven years.
That evening, Alex was in the living room, taking a call.
He didn't try to hide it from me, but he kept his voice down.
As I walked past the bedroom door, I caught him saying:
"Alright, I'll go with you on Saturday. Don't go by yourself."
He paused for a moment.
"Don't worry about it. Emily's not petty. She won't care about something like this."
I didn't stop walking, just went straight into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
On Saturday, he left early in the morning.
He was wearing the dark blue shirt I'd given him for his birthday last year, sprayed on some cologne, and slicked his hair back with gel.
Before heading out, he stood in the entryway, putting on his shoes, and said to me:
"Chloe wants to visit an art exhibit. She doesn't want to go alone, so I'm going with her. I'll be back tonight."
"Okay," I said.
"Do you want to come with us?"
He'd already finished tying his shoes, his hand resting on the doorknob.
It wasn't really an invitation. He was just expecting me to turn him down.
"Nah, I'm kinda tired," I said.
"Alright," he said, opening the door. "I'm heading out."
As soon as the door closed, I sat down on the couch with my laptop on my lap.
On the screen was the interview confirmation email from Denmark.
Next Wednesday, an online interview.
I closed the email and opened my work document.
At 8 PM, Chloe posted on her timeline.
It was a picture of her and Alex at the art gallery.
She stood in front of a massive oil painting, smiling, her body angled to the side.
Alex was just half a step behind her, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on her.
The caption read:
"Having someone who really gets a painting with you is worth more than seeing a hundred by yourself."
I didn't even click to check the comments.
I knew someone would ask, "Is that your boyfriend?"
And I knew she wouldn't reply, just drop a shy sticker.
And Alex probably thought it was no big deal, just friends being friends.
At ten, he came back.
He carried the scent of air conditioning and oil paint from the gallery.
He washed his hands first, then came over and sat next to me, pulling out his phone to show me a picture.
"Look at this painting. Chloe said it looks like something you'd make," he said.
It was a cool-toned abstract piece with sharp, striking lines.
"Yeah," I said, glancing at it but not saying anything else.
"Have you been under a lot of pressure lately?" he asked.
He put his phone away and turned to look at me.
"You don't look so great," he said.
"No, it's just been a busy time with work," I replied.
"Then you should get some rest," he said.
He walked off to the bedroom.
"Oh, by the way, Chloe wants to drop by tomorrow afternoon. Is that alright?" he asked.
My fingers paused on the keyboard.
"Up to you," I replied.
"Alright, I'll let her know," he said.
He walked into the bedroom, leaving the door open.
I heard him undo his belt buckle, then the sound of him tapping on his phone.
He was probably replying to Chloe.
I closed my laptop, walked out to the balcony, and sent a message to my advisor.
"Professor Maddox, I'm ready for the interview."
My advisor replied with an OK emoji almost instantly.
The city lights sparkled below, and the wind from the eighteenth floor was chilly as hell.
I remembered what Alex had just said.
Chloe said that painting looked like something I'd make.
She brought me up in front of him.
She did it so subtly, he probably thought she was just being thoughtful about me.
She really was clever.